Morning Tea
by irishcookie
Summary: Damon is hung over and about to get a call from the morality police - Bamon snark ensues.  Oneshot.


**Morning Tea**

**Author's Note: Written as a response to queen_haq's prompt for Bamon snark with Bonnie coming out on top. I think my annoyance with Damon's recent actions is shining through because he does not fare well in this little tale – which is surprising considering it is from his point of view. Still, anything for some Bamon snark! **

She would have to pick one of those rare occasions when he is suffering through the physical symptoms of a hangover to come barging in, ready to go.

Damon groans as Bonnie slams the front door to the boarding house. His keen hearing has been compromised by the amount of alcohol he consumed the night before. Each footstep makes him wince and he knows it won't be long before she finds him.

"DAMON!"

Christ, didn't anyone think to teach her some manners?

He sits up slowly, ignoring the head rush. It's nothing a good feed won't cure – and if Miss Bennett isn't careful, he might be taking a sip of her witch's brew. She's in the living room now, close enough that he can smell her now. She's doused herself in some kind of citrus concoction – not entirely unpleasant, a bonus considering the state he finds himself in.

"You rotten son of a bitch."

It's a whisper – but of course he hears it. And tells her so, giving away his location. She throws open the doors to the library, bringing with her the mid-morning sun. He screws his eyes shut and wonders if spirits are tap dancing on his brain. He gives himself a moment before he opens one eye.

There stands Bonnie Bennett in all her glory.

"Oh look, the morality police have come to pay me a visit," he quips ignoring the warning tick in her face. He continues on as if she doesn't have the power to make his hangover that much worse. "Did you bring your handcuffs?"

She storms down the stairs toward him and he braces himself for impact. When it doesn't come, he raises an eyebrow. "When you get back?"

"You killed Alaric?" She questions leaning over the back of the couch.

"Yesterday? It had to be yesterday," Damon continues on as if she isn't about to invade his personal space.

"You killed Alaric," Bonnie repeats and this time it is not a question. Her eyes narrow and Damon pushes himself up. If she isn't going to invade his personal space, he'll invade hers. Predictably, she straightens to her full height, just out of his reach.

"Yes. I killed him. He came back to life. Called me a dick. Won't return my calls or accept my flowers. I am thinking about standing outside his window with a boombox. What do you think our song is? I was considering 'Rollin with my Homies' but I was worried he would get the wrong idea," Damon trails off. There is that tick again – only more pronounced. He is treading thin ice. A half smile plays across his lips. "Come on, Bon Bon, no real harm done. Alaric is just in the middle of a snit – he'll come around."

"You just don't get it do you," Bonnie shakes her head, sounding exasperated. "You want to play around with people's lives, fine – do it. But there are consequences."

"Let me guess, they come in the form of one very pissed off witch?" Damon summarizes. "Bonnie, are you going to give me a headache? Fry my hair? Because if that is why you came here then for the love of God, do it so I can get back to my nap."

She falters and he smirks. Clearly, she didn't think he was going to lay out her course of action for her. He flops back on the couch and awaits his punishment like the good little boy she wants him to be. When it does not come, he frowns. "You sure enjoy making a man wait, don't you Bon Bon?"

Her response is to cross the room to the wet bar. She seats herself on the edge of the table, her legs swinging in an almost playful fashion. She tilts her head as she looks around the room – her eyes finally falling on him. He is not sure he likes this sudden addition to her game plan. "Are you hung over, Damon Salvatore?" She asks, and he swears she has driven her voice up a few octaves on purpose.

"Whatever would give you that idea," Damon retorts immediately. Why the hell hasn't she left yet? If she isn't going to whammy him then there is no real reason for her to still be here. He briefly considers tossing her over his shoulder and depositing her on the front lawn but knows it is more trouble than it is worth.

Bonnie crosses one leg over the other and Damon realizes just how short her short shorts are when they ride up another inch. He raises an eyebrow, wondering if her summer away loosened her up a little. He watches in horror (if he is being perfectly honest he watches in fascination) as she sticks the tip of her pointer finger in her mouth. She then runs it around the edge of one of his brandy snifters and the resulting high pitch noise has him wincing. "Oh, I don't know where I would have gotten that idea," she trails off.

"Very funny, little witch," Damon grimaces, forever thankful when she pulls her finger off the rim. She is amused.

It's pissing him off.

"How much of a liquor store did you drink your way through to get you this way?" Bonnie asks pushing herself off of the table. She lands on the heels of her boots and comes to stand over him. The way she looks down at him causes him to indulge in a facial tick of his own. She suddenly wrinkles her nose. "Or did you just bathe in it?"

"I am sorry that you find me unpresentable, milady. Had I know you were coming I would have taken steps to prepare myself." He pulls himself up to his full height, wobbling a little on his own feet. Once steady, he adds a formal bow, well practice over time, for good measure.

She merely cocks an eyebrow.

"If my stench offends you so much, the least you could do is offer to wash my back," he says reaching for the half empty glass that rests on the coffee table. She follows his movement carefully, shaking her head when he finishes the remainder of amber liquid. "I take it you don't believe in the hair of the dog that bit you."

"You don't need me to police you," she finally says quietly.

"Now you get it," Damon drops the glass, not caring when it cracks on the hard floor. He reaches over and places his hands on her shoulders. "Congratulations, Miss Bennett, after many attempts you finally have graduated from the school of 'How to mind your own business'. I'll mail you your diploma." With that, he spins her and gives her a little pat one her butt to send her on her way.

Bonnie heads for the exit and Damon decides he likes this view of her – her backside moving from side to side as she _leaves_. He takes a deep breath, and notes that perhaps she has a point on his personal hygiene at the moment.

"You know…"

Damon groans. Now what? He looks up to see Bonnie leaning against the railing of the staircase.

"You don't need me because you've do a damn good job of punishing yourself," Bonnie shakes her head. "Congratulations, Mr. Salvatore, after many attempts you finally have grown a conscience."

Damon doesn't like that her words hit a nerve. He flinches and decides to show her that it is in fact the opposite. He moves quickly, her neck his ultimate target. However, before he can reach his goal, he finds himself on his knees in front of her, her hands on his temples. The pain is intense – spreading from where her fingers touch him all the way to his feet.

"You're so predictable, Damon," Bonnie says. "Don't worry, your secret's safe with me."

He would like to have registered a protest but instead his words come out as a groan as a fresh wave of pain overtakes him.

"You like this one?" Bonnie asks, her tone playful – almost seductive in a way. "I taught it to myself over the summer."

"And here I thought you were categorizing your butterfly collection," he manages to get out between clenched teeth.

Bonnie tilts her head and for the first time since he met her he thinks she feels pity for him. He fumes inwardly. He does not need Bonnie Bennett's pity. "You keep pushing everyone away, Damon. It makes my job that much easier." She finally takes her hands away and he slumps forward, groaning when his head connects with her stomach. She takes a step up and he is left to fall onto the stairs at her feet. "You want everyone to believe that you're some big bad scary vampire – when in reality you're just a joke."

"Okay, ow," Damon mutters into the carpet. He figures if he hadn't indulged so much the night before he would have recovered by now. He wants to rip into her – to prove that he is not what she says. But he can barely lift his head.

"When you're ready to act like a big boy, then meet us at the Grille. We have a lead on Stefan," Bonnie says.

Damon gurgles a response as she climbs the rest of stairs. He lifts his head enough to see her disappear out the door she had barged through just ten minutes before. He thinks she is gone but then her voice filters through the hallways of his house. "Oh, and make sure you shower before you grace us with your presence."

He responds by slumping back into his former position.


End file.
